Work Text:
After three hours doing studio work, all Steve really wanted was to sketch more. But he really couldn’t ignore the long term planning for his life drawing class. Steve considered his options while riding the 1 bus, sketching the occasional passenger that caught his attention. He knew realistically that he should just get up and ask Tony to be his life model. He knew this, objectively. He even knew that Tony would probably say yes. The number of times he’d caught Tony unselfconsciously sweaty in a tank top and low hanging sweats after working up a sweat or so distracted by a project he forgot he was in a towel post-shower– it was enough times to leave Steve with a perfect vision of sweaty biceps and a hint of half-dry hipbones. Usually, Steve didn’t have an issue doing the demanding thing that would lead to a good outcome. Certainly, Bucky had reminded him more than once he had too little issue with these kinds of tasks. But asking Tony to strip naked to be stared at was certain to reveal his fascination with Tony. They’d already built up so much friendship and casual touches, he didn’t want to lose it.
Boston passed him by as he headed over the bridge. As smoots passed him and the other passengers by, he needed to figure out the measurement of his own plans for the project. Even without Tony, he knew he wanted to focus on a male model. He wanted to do something to challenge the view his professor had encouraged. He enjoyed the rigors of the French academic approach as much as the next technically focused artist. He’d found comfort in the assigned studies of still lifes. But he didn’t enjoy the presumed heterosexual male gaze in most of the assigned models. Not only because his current fascination on the very very attractive curve of Tony’s biceps while working out, but also because he knew the real challenge of a healthy body from his own childhood illness. He wanted to capture the tension and growth there, beyond the perfect planes of an oil painting.
In no way was this self indulgent gayness. Nope.
Steve arrived home, bustling up the stairs to their apartment. He still wasn’t over the shift to the top floor being maybe the sixth in a big fancy building like Tony had picked out in Cambridge. New York had set his expectations literally sky high, but he was thankful for only having to go up five sets of stairs, even after his asthma had become much more manageable. He settled his portfolio outside the door to fish out his keys. He turned the lock and entered his voice code into the little intercom that Tony had set up.
“Welcome back, Mr. Rogers,” Jarvis greeted him, as he shuffled in. The portfolio settled into its usual spot in the entry way and his jacket onto the door.
“Thanks Jarvis. Is Tony in?” Steve asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jarvis replied. Usually if Tony was home, there was rock music blasting or disturbing noises coming from Tony’s room. Not that Tony had brought anyone home for several months; the noises had shifted to clanks and occasional frustrated yelling. And usually, Steve would call out to Tony, hoping to catch a few moments in the charismatic whirlwind that was Tony Stark. Instead, Steve retreated to his room. He needed more time to think about this in a place quieter than the bustle of a post-work bus.
***
“Steve?”
Steve escaped from his comforter burrito.
“Yeah, coming Tony.” He stumbled to the door. He opened the door, still a little mussed from his burrito.
“Oh, wow, you’re –” Tony blushed, weirdly shuffling in the doorway, “Sorry, did I wake you up?”
“No, I was just thinking about my life drawing project… under a blanket, I guess.”
What exactly did Tony think he was doing?
Steve brushed past him to head into the kitchen, knocking shoulders with him. Tony followed, seeming a little hesitant. Steve pulled out the casserole he’d made a few days ago and sets out to microwave enough for two plates. Tony again hovers in the doorway. At least Steve managed to find a cover for his nervous energy.
“I was thinking about maybe…”
Why was this so hard?
“Maybe having you be the subject?”
Tony didn’t say anything. Tony didn’t even move.
“I mean, obviously we’re always around each other. And I don’t really have money to hire a model. But only if it doesn’t mess with your course work, I guess.” There was an easy out for Tony, one where he wouldn’t have to say that he didn’t want to spend that long with Steve or found it weird for one guy to ask another guy to pose naked for art. And better yet, there was the microwave, giving him something to focus on.
He pulled the casserole out, plating some for both of them. With Bucky, nonchalance was always the best way to get away with something, be it a lure into a fight or hide the seriousness of an asthma attack. Tony certainly hadn’t complained at him quietly shrinking the distance between them on the sofa over the past weeks. Maybe he could even ease back out of the whole idea if Tony didn’t say something.
“Steve, of course. I’d always want to help you.”